


Show and Tell

by Sera_Clay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, M, whump, hurt/comfort with an emphasis on the hurt, AU post S2. Contains violence, degradation, and non-con. Do not read this fic if you do not like Red whump.</p>
<p>Not my characters, no profit is being derived from their suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regret

Dembe is at the hospital, ensuring that Liz receives proper treatment for the concussion she suffered when a car bomb exploded outside her motel room, when they come for him.

Red takes out as many as he can before the gas overwhelms him. Clearly, he needs to keep a mask and oxygen in every room.

He rouses briefly to the stifling heat of a cloth bag over his head, his wrists bound behind him, his legs completely immobilized. The vibrations that tell him he's on a small plane, already in the air.

This is bad. Very bad.

The next time he wakes, his first thought is regret.

Regret for everything he's never told Liz. For the pain Dembe will feel once he receives the news of Red's death.

He's bound naked to a metal chair, in a cinder block room without windows. Alone beneath the flicker of a single overhead fluorescent, sweat beading his brow and dripping into his eyes with the stifling heat of the space.

Somewhere remote, from the muggy, vegetative taste of the air.

Whoever took him has no interest in negotiation.

This has the flavor of revenge, of a hatred both personal and twisted.

Red looks around again, spots the tiny security camera high in one corner, red light illuminated. The power cord vanishes into a small rough hole in the ceiling.

No dust or spider webs. That camera was set in place recently. He smiles his most charming smile, just in case anyone is watching.

"Might I have a drink of water? It's unpleasantly warm here, and dehydration tends to make me a little testy."


	2. The Video

Liz stares in horror at the images scrolling on her phone, at once muting the sound before pausing the emailed video and looking around to see if her colleagues have noticed anything.

Samar is looking over Aram's shoulder, Ressler is conferring with Cooper at the far end of the room.

Dembe has departed already, the hopeless look in his dark eyes almost more than Liz can bear.

She assured him they were doing everything possible to find and recover Red, and he informed her that Red's assets were fully in play as well.

They need to coordinate as much as possible, to avoid confusing the trail. What there is of it, which at the moment appears to be transfer to a private plane.

Unfortunately, due to a regional airshow, there were literally thousands of landings and takeoffs in the relevant time period.

She knows now why Red was taken. Because she needs him, and that makes her vulnerable.

And she's very much afraid that his captors don't just want leverage on her, or perhaps on the task force - they may want to hurt her, by hurting Red.

Liz shuts and locks her office door before restarting the video.


	3. Bound

The camera shows her Red bound to a chair, his head hanging down as if exhausted. Liz can't see much, feels a thrill of shock at the sight of him naked and vulnerable, before a woman steps in front of the camera, blocking her view.

"Elizabeth Keen, we're going to play a game together. A small game of show and tell. You will follow my instructions exactly."

The woman tosses her head, her long, black locks clearly a wig, a half-mask hiding her face so that only her fleshy lips coated in thick red lipstick are visible. Her teeth are broad and white, with gaps between them, gold crowns flashing from the depths of her mouth.

She has the accent of a Spanish-speaker, and the room is clearly very hot. Red's body glistens with sweat.The woman is wearing a long black dress, with black sleeves, and rubber surgical gloves.

Liz holds her breath, and a shiver runs down her spine as she watches the woman turn away.

"Ignore her, Lizzie," Red shouts, his face twisting in agony as the woman steps behind his chair, looks up at the camera, then leans over his shoulder and delivers a hard slap directly to his groin.

"Bad boy," she pouts, before looking up at the camera once again. Red rocks violently back and forth in the chair, his head bent forward so his face is hidden.

"More once he recovers, expect another video soon," she says, still smiling, her gloved hand now rubbing the top of Red's head in a mockery of comfort.

The screen goes dark.

Liz stares at the phone in her hand, noticing her whole arm is shaking so badly she almost drops her phone, then leans forward and vomits into her trash can.

Red. Oh, Red.

Whatever happens, Liz will absolutely make it her life's work to find and kill that woman.


	4. Dembe

"It's horrible, Dembe."

She begged him to meet her at the Bethesda apartment, rather than the Post Office, and now he looks impatient, almost irritated. Liz holds the phone behind her back, reluctant to hand it over.

But she needs help, she can't do this alone. If the videos contain any clues that could help to find Red, she needs Dembe.

She trusts him. And more importantly, Red trusts him.

Liz can't bear to show this footage to the Task Force. To have it archived in some government vault, perhaps watched with amusement by men and women who know Raymond Reddington only as an enemy of their government.

Dembe holds out his hand.

"Elizabeth, I have seen terrible things." His dark eyes are steady. "We cannot afford to waste any time."

"There's only one so far," she says, handing him her phone. "But I expect another ..."

She breaks off, watching Dembe scrolling rapidly to the right email.

"How do you know the password on my phone?"

Dembe rolls his eyes at her, then focuses on the images.

She closes her eyes, the audio bringing each moment vividly to life in her mind.

Red's sweat-dark hair, his muscular thighs. The sound of the vicious blow, the way the cords stood out in his throat as it landed, the flash of his teeth as he cried out before hanging his head and rocking in speechless agony.

Dembe's face appears carved in stone.

"A second email has arrived."

Liz shudders.

"Come here."

Still holding the phone, Dembe seats himself on Red's couch, motions to Liz to sit beside him.

"Come here, Elizabeth."

Dembe lays his arm along the back of the couch, and she slides over until their bodies are touching. He gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

He smells like Red's sandalwood soap, the complementary sharpness of his shave cream. Dembe must be staying here at the apartment while he waits for more information.

The second video begins.


	5. Vladimir Markov

The same woman is standing in front of the camera, a few dark wisps of hair from her wig sticking to her forehead. She purses her lips, and beneath her thick pancake make-up the lines at the corners of her mouth momentarily deepen.

She's at least forty, perhaps older.

Just one more little shred of information.

"Elizabeth Keen. You will extract and destroy the signed confession of Vladimir Markov."

She raises one gloved finger. "You have one week, but I expect you will manage to have Colonel Markov released and on a plane for home much, much sooner. Show me you can do exactly what I tell you."

She steps aside to reveal Red, a filthy rag stuffed into his mouth, another tying it tightly in place. His eyes roll wildly, his lashes crusty with the drying remnants of the tears that streak his face.

"Tomorrow perhaps I'll let him tell you what we just did together, shall I, my pet?"

Laughing, she runs one hand over his head again, and Liz stares in disbelief as Red's eyes fill with tears once again.

Dembe stares at her phone as if he wants to crush it.

"Who is Colonel Markov?" he asks her.

Liz licks her lips, her mouth dry with nerves. What has that woman been doing to Red?

"He's a Soviet-era informant, a double agent who was recently arrested after seeking treatment for bladder cancer."

She pauses, thinking hard.

"He's probably still at Bethesda General, but where that confession is now? Probably in some anonymous office in Main Justice."

Dembe nods grimly.

"I know someone who can help."

"Red has a source inside Main Justice?" Liz looks over at Dembe, who is still staring down at her phone.

"More than one," he confirms absently. "I will make some calls and get back to you as soon as I can."


	6. The Only Place

Red sags against the back of the chair in relief as she removes the disgusting rag from his mouth, the taste and smell of his own feces still thick in the back of his throat.

"There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" she tells him, swiping at his wet eyes with the filthy cloth in a way that he's quite sure is designed to promote eye infections.

She gave him the choice of her fingers or her knife, then wiped her gloved hands thoroughly on the cloth before stuffing it in his mouth. He's sore now, but not bleeding. 

Red knows she's going to kill him. He can smell it on her despite the stench of this room, but he still wants to live. Whatever he needs to endure, whatever might save his life, save Liz from the burden of failing him, he will bear for as long as he can.

"I bet you can take my fist," she taunts him, holding her gloved right hand up in front of his eyes, then twisting it just a little. "She'd enjoy watching that, don't you think?"

Red swallows and immediately wishes he didn't, the taste in the back of his throat intensifying.

"I'd imagine most FBI agents would," he comments in the most cheerful voice he can manage. "You've never made the Most Wanted List, have you? Not even an Interpol bulletin?"

He tilts his head, closes his eyes as the expected blow splits his lip. The clean taste of blood, so much preferable.

"You'll sleep in the chair again tonight," she spits out, stripping off her gloves and rapping on the metal door to be let out.

The pattern of her knocks changes every time. She's overly cautious, almost paranoid. Perhaps he can use that.

"See you in the morning," he calls back, sagging against his bonds only after the door closes behind her.

The camera may always be watching, but it's her reactions when she's in the room that concern him.

Her accent is unusual; perhaps there's a clue there to her identity. 

For a moment Red longs hopelessly for a toilet, a shower, the chance to stretch out the deep cramps that are developing in his shoulders. Then he puts his mind to work again, the only place a man can ever truly count on being free.


	7. So Bad

"Central or South America?"

Demb arrives in a rush, locking the apartment door behind him.

Liz stares down at the phone in her trembling hand. She needs to show Dembe the new video, she knows that, but the conversation avoids her a moment of delay, and even that moment is precious to her.

"Yes," she confirms, "But there are too many possible connecting flights to be sure."

She gestures at the Bureau laptop open on the table in front of the couch, loaded by Aram with the latest surveillance links. She didn't tell him why she needed it, and he just shook his head and didn't ask.

"Raymond sometimes needs to shave twice a day, if he has an evening appointment," Dembe tells her, looking at the phone in her hand but not reaching for it. "I think Central America, based on the first video."

Liz leans forward and narrows her search parameters, which deletes more than half of the flight plans on her screen.

"There's another video?"

Liz nods, hands him the phone.

"It's so bad," she says, "And he's so... so brave.."

A sob escapes her, and she feels Dembe's arm around her, turning her face to the comfort of his shoulder for just a moment.

"You stole and destroyed the confession," he says. "What more does she want?"

The stone-faced janitor who smuggled her into Main Justice didn't even want to know which office Liz needed to access.

"Colonel Markov won't be on a plane until tomorrow morning," Liz says, wiping her face and straightening up. "They cleared him to leave, but he's waiting for the ambassador's private jet."

If Red can endure this, she can watch and search for the clue, the mistake, that may lead them to his captors.

In the line of duty, Liz has watched ransom videos, serial killers in action, even snuff films.

But nothing has prepared her for the sight of Red suffering for the sole purpose of hurting her.


	8. Show

Red wakes groggy from being gassed once again, his captors apparently taking no chances despite his bound and weakened condition.

His face rests on the filthy concrete floor, his wrists still bound behind him.

The metal chair has been upended and he's draped over it, face down, his knees spread and bound to the metal legs. Red lifts his neck slightly and realizes he can't see the door. His bare ass is therefore raised high in the direction of the camera. Oh, just lovely.

On the bright side, the floor is damp, and he doesn't smell too awful, so they must have hosed him off again while he was unconscious.

It appears he has a little time to prepare himself, to try and relax.

He can't think of Lizzie, what she must be thinking now, and certainly not about the flashbacks Dembe is bound to experience if he watches what Red suspects will soon unfold.

When the door finally opens, it's almost a relief. The sooner it begins, the sooner it will be over.

Two sets of footsteps. The woman, and someone else.

A man. A stranger who smells of sweat and guaro and cheap tobacco.

Not quite what he expected. Red flinches as a rough, heavy hand probes him for a moment, then gives him a pat. There's the sound of a belt buckle, then a zipper.

At least this isn't being filmed. 

"Elizabeth Keen."

But of course, it is.

The woman's voice. Red tries to twist his head around, but he can't see much at all.

Another pat, harder. Really, more of a slap.

"Colonel Markov is still in your country."

Another slap, even harder, the chair moving slightly, Red's face scraping across the floor before he manages to lift his head.

Painful, humiliating, but not too damaging. At least not yet.

"If and when you obey me, we can play both show and tell, but today you have earned only show."

The woman sounds vaguely triumphant.

"Really, you don't find this a bit banal at your age?" Red drawls. "More naughty boy games?"

She stamps one foot but doesn't answer. That's better than nothing.

Another painful probe, but not the man's hand. Red grits his teeth, forces himself to push back against the unwelcome intrusion. Worse, but still not too damaging.

A few more slaps land, even harder, the last one accompanied by a vicious pinch that draws a low groan from him as the man's thick, strong fingers twist deep into his stinging flesh.

The chair moves with each thrust despite his efforts to relax, scraping loudly against the concrete floor, the accompanying slaps falling harder now, the pinches deeper.

Enough. They've had their show.

Red cranes his neck and lifts his head as high as he can, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and arms, and begins cursing the man in non-stop gutter Spanish, beginning with his inadequate size, and moving rapidly to his female relatives.

Despite the woman's cry of protest, the man's fist connects hard with the side of Red's head, and he lapses with great relief into unconsciousness.


	9. Listen Again

"Not just brave, but so smart." Dembe is leaning forward, his face bright with interest. Not at all the reaction she expected in the face of those images of torture and rape.

"What do you mean?" Liz asks, wiping the tears from her face.

"You don't speak Spanish, do you?" he asks her. "Listen again."

Liz closes her eyes and cries silently as Dembe plays the final frames of the video through several times.

She opens them at last to find the final scene paused, the bright red marks standing out against Red's pale white flesh as the unknown man lifts up and draws back his massive fist.

"There were three swear words he used that are unusual," says Dembe rapidly, pulling the lap top over and beginning to refine the search parameters further. "He's either in Guatemala, or being held by Guatemalans."

Liz wipes her face again, then sniffles hard.

"I love you, Dembe," she says fiercely. "You do know that, right?"

He tosses her a brief grin of thanks before focusing back on the screen.

"Less than a hundred flights now, if we assume Guatemala. That's manageable."

"Will he be ok?" She has to ask.

Dembe looks over at her again, his face going still and sober.

"Raymond knows a great deal about what it takes to survive torture," he says seriously. Avoiding that other word, the one Liz wishes she hadn't acknowledged. The one that causes her thoughts to nearly stop.

She's somehow never really thought about Red as a sexual being. Flirtatious, charming, even sensual at times. But not the reality of him as a man in a human body, vulnerable to this type of assault.

But from the first moment she saw him tied to that chair, she realized she wanted him. 

That surge of desire, mixed with horror, also forced her to recognize how badly she's wanted him since she first saw him in the box, decorously clothed and smiling as he sat strapped down to a different chair, so very long ago. 

Why it took the sight of him naked and vulnerable for her to admit that to herself is not something Liz wants to explore.


	10. Why Not Now?

"Why can't I go now?"

Liz paces angrily back and down in the small apartment as Dembe sits on the couch, slowly drinking a very large glass of orange juice, sip by sip. She's taken a week off work, claiming stress.

"We can't risk you leaving yet, any more than I can. Not until we find him."

Dembe is coordinating the efforts of more than forty men and women, most of them already in or on the way to Guatemala City.

"Then why doesn't she send another damn video?"

Liz pauses and stares at Dembe, her face crumpling for a moment. That fist to the head.

If it caught Red at the wrong angle, that would explain the lack of another message.

Colonel Markov is gone. Liz is ready for her next task.

"You need to eat something."

Dembe is insistent on regular meals, and proper nutrition. Liz has to admit she feels better when she eats regularly, even small meals or juice to hold down the constant pain pills for the headaches brought on by grinding her teeth in frustration.

Neither of them have been sleeping well at all.

Three nights.

When the video finally arrives in late afternoon, they take their places on the couch, Dembe's arm around Liz once more, her hand on his knee.


	11. Very Different

The same cement block room once again, but the scene is very different.

The woman is sitting on the metal chair, smoking a cigarette.

Red lies limp on his back at her feet, his arms stretched over his head, his legs close together. It's not clear what he's tied to, just that his unclothed body is stretched uncomfortably taut. His eyes are closed, but he's breathing rapidly as if he's in pain. The left side of his face is swollen, his jaw bruised purple and blue.

She looks up at the camera, and smiles. Her lipstick is thick as ever, but pink today.

"Elizabeth Keen. Tell, today."

She gives Red a nudge in the ribs with the toe of her boot, and his eyes open, rolling warily towards his captor. Not looking in the direction of the camera.

"She's burning me with her cigarettes." Red's voice is so hoarse Liz can barely understand him. She leans down, and he trembles violently as she slowly lowers the glowing orange point of the cigarette to just above his left nipple. There are few small round marks scattered across his bare body, in no particular pattern.

"Colonel Markov had a safe in Georgetown. Remove the contents and overnight them to Alfonso Elias Sanchez in Bogota." She enunciates very clearly, lifts the cigarette as Red's eyes follow her, then lowers it towards his lips.

"I could use a smoke," Red whispers, his eyes rolling back for a moment as the tip of the cigarette sizzles against the stubble of his beard just beneath his lower lip. After an agonizing second, she lifts it away, leaving a mark like a blister.

"Tomorrow perhaps you'll stick out your tongue," she comments, lifting her boot and placing it firmly on his thigh before leaning towards his groin. "Or something else?"

She's taking another drag off her cigarette, her eyes narrowing behind the half-mask, when the video cuts out.


	12. Still Alive

Dembe shudders and covers his face with his free hand, holding Liz against him with the other.

She rubs his big knee comfortingly, not knowing what, if anything, to say.

Red is still alive, and she has another task. He'll be alive tomorrow, assuming she completes it.

Show and tell. Liz doesn't want to go back to show.

"He was screaming," Dembe whispers from behind his hand.

"What do you mean?" Liz asks, already trying to mentally marshal her contacts in the Georgetown area.

"His voice. That's how he sounds when he's been screaming for hours."

Dembe sounds so defeated. Liz does not want to think about how he knows that bit of information about Red.

"Tell me again that the jet is ready and fueled," she says firmly. "Tell me that we can be there in less than five hours."

Dembe nods, wipes his eyes brusquely.

"We have several promising leads." 

"Mr. Kaplan has arrived?"

Dembe nods again, then lifts his head.

"Yes. She hates the tropics with a passion, but she checked into her hotel an hour ago."

This isn't just a rescue mission. They need to contain the situation, the number of people who know what this woman has done to Red. To Dembe and Liz.

Any repeat of this scenario, if they do manage to get him back, would break them both beyond repair.


	13. He Wants to Live

Red can barely move his arms when he wakes to find his wrists roped together in his lap, his legs and waist bound once again to the chair.

No matter. He leans and stretches, trying not to tip the chair. Trying not to imagine what fresh torment his captor has planned for him today.

He expected to be moved at least once by now. Four nights. If his people, or the FBI, have not found him by tonight, the odds of rescue will decrease significantly.

They aren't giving him enough water, and very little food. He can look on that as a small mercy, given his captor's willingness to allow him to sit or lie for hours, even overnight, in his own filth. But realistically, it decreases his chance of survival.

Infection could set in, or his heart could falter under the strain.

Lizzie.

He can't help but think about the last time he saw her, dazed by the force of the car bomb, standing there in her long gray robe, her wet hair dripping down her back.

She would have died if she hadn't been showering.

He and Dembe were on their way to warn her of a threat, her phone ringing to voice mail again and again, and as they pulled into the parking lot filled with sirens and flashing lights, Red thought he'd lost her.

That she had paid the price for all his intrigues and secrets.

He sent Dembe with her to the hospital, not waiting for his perimeter team to pull back and move his things to a new apartment.

The way Liz looked at him across the desolation, the smoldering ruin that had been her home, and mouthed his name.

Red wants to live to beg her forgiveness, to buy her an apartment ten times, a hundred times more beautiful and secure than the Audrey.

He want to live to hear her say his name again.

The door begins to open. Red closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself to endure whatever comes next.


	14. Sufficient

The photo is blurry, but sufficient.

It's dawn by the time the plane lands, Liz drowsing against Dembe's shoulder. He's frankly asleep, his hands folded in his lap, fingers linked.

"Wake up," she whispers, and his eyes fly open without any other movement that she can feel.

"Elizabeth."

"Only two more hours," she whispers. It's a race against time. Their informant believes Red will be moved today, possibly by helicopter.

They're going in by jeep, slower but safer, a convoy of every fighter they have been able to pull into the vicinity, in a line of vehicles marked as a bird watching tour.

Mr. Kaplan and a medical team are included, dressed in jungle patterns topped by bright birdwatching caps.

Liz wanted to keep the attack small, but Dembe believes some of the outbuildings conceal additional troops. 

There's evidence of chemical weapons, some kind of gas, but they have a team designed to hit that first in protective gear.

The narrow dirt roads seem surprisingly busy for early morning, until they pass first one open air market, then another.

They conceal the jeeps and hike the last mile, the jungle tugging at them, Liz struggling to keep up, Dembe trying to contain his impatience. They expected a firefight, but far too many of the armed men they encounter are laden with various burdens, obviously about to depart.

Dembe radios for silence, for stealth, and Liz tucks away her gun, draws her knife.

She can barely believe it when she reaches the metal door of the small cinder block hut unscathed.

Her knife is bloody from a man she stabbed just before Dembe broke his neck. Liz swipes it clean on her camouflage pant leg, tucks it into its sheath, and looks around before reaching for the handle.

Their team is in control of the facility, or close; she can hear brief code words in her earpiece and Dembe's deep voice coordinating the follow-up. They all know not to approach this building - to leave it for her, Dembe, or Mr. Kaplan.

Is that woman inside with Red at this very moment?

The door is heavily bolted from the outside at the top and bottom.

Pulling out her gun, Liz drags the bolts open, pushes the door open slowly with the edge of her foot. No sound from within.

She glances around for Dembe, but he's still in the largest building, the one they assumed was the woman's residence.

Liz advances into the darkness.

In the center of the room, a naked man tied to a chair opens his eyes, then raises his eyebrows.

"Well, hello, Lizzie," Red says.


	15. Privately

Liz takes in the small room with a sweep of her gaze, then raises her weapon and shoots the video camera three times, the red light vanishing as the lens shatters.

Then she tucks it away, and steps forward to begin sawing at the ropes.

"The swearing was very helpful," she tells him, freeing his hands first before kneeling to cut his ankles loose. Her knife was razor sharp when she left Washington, but it's still slow work.

"Is Dembe with you?" he inquires, rubbing his wrists. 

Liz smiles up at him. 

"Yes, and Mr. Kaplan too."

"You brought Kate all the way down here? That's quite a feat!" he exclaims, watching as she moves to the ropes wound tightly around his thighs. Liz saws at them slowly, unwilling to risk cutting him.

"We weren't sure how much medical attention you would need," she responds, freeing one thigh and moving to the other.

"Lizzie, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, was it really wise for you to come in person?"

Liz pauses, then continues unwinding the last of the rope before starting carefully on the coils binding his waist to the chair.

"We, Dembe and I, we felt it would be best to handle this ourselves. Privately. Your men on the ground only know this is a hostage situation. Not that you're involved."

She bends her head and focuses on the rope, trying to keep her eyes on what she is doing.

"And what about your colleagues at the Post Office?"

Did he really think she would allow any of them to see him like this?

"I'm on vacation," she tells him, still staring at the last few loops of rope as she tries not to tug on them. They cross and crisscross some of the worst of the cigarette burns, raw and bloody and oozing. 

"Lizzie?" 

Red reaches out and lays his hand on her head, and the touch is so surprising that she looks up at him in shock.

That wasn't really an answer.

"They don't know anything," she tells him, working the last few strands free and then getting up off her knees. Feeling his hand slip from her head with a curious sense of loss.

"That's all of it - can you stand?"

She tucks the knife away and puts out her hands.

Red blinks and holds his hands out, his arms shaking as their fingers meet.

"I'm not entirely sure," he begins, a curious expression on his face as he stares up at her.

There's a shadow at the door, and then Dembe is in the room, a wide, fierce smile decorating his face.

"Mr. Kaplan has that woman in custody, and the installation is secure," he reports.

Red sets his hands on his knees, abandoning the attempt to rise for a moment.

"I don't suppose you brought any clothes for me?" he asks Dembe somewhat wistfully.

Dembe shucks off his small camouflage backpack and pulls out loose trousers and a button down shirt, both in a light khaki fabric, then a pair of moccasins, rolled tightly together. A matching nylon cap with a long, loose neck flap and plastic sunglasses are folded between them.

Liz steps back and waits, staring out at the morning light spilling through the doorway, as Dembe carefully levers Red out of the chair and helps him dress.

"That woman, I still don't know her name, she will need to be wrung out by professionals," Red comments, attempting to hobble towards the door and almost falling. "Don't dispose of her until you're sure we have it all."

"Mexico?" asks Dembe, stepping to Red's side to provide some support.

Liz steps to Red's other side and drapes his arm over her shoulders as well.

"Mexico, or Perth," Red confirms. "Perth might be a little more secure."

They lead him out into the sunlight and he looks up at the light blue sky, then around at the foliage, the burning buildings, the crumpled bodies. 

"What a lovely morning," Red exclaims. "I do hope a helicopter is next on our agenda? Then perhaps a bath?"

"Do you want to see her before we leave?" Liz asks, not willing to spell out what she thinks he might want to do in revenge, but needing to ask.

It's all she can do to leave this to the professionals, rather than carving the woman up herself on the spot.

"No, Lizzie, I won't give her that satisfaction," Red responds, favoring her with a somewhat quizzical smile. "Do I detect some time spent in Dembe's company?"

He winces with every step, but he's smiling at her so encouragingly that all she can do is laugh and shake her head.

"We've been together day and night," she informs him. "So be careful, I may have influenced him as well."

They turn their steps towards their helicopter, now loudly announcing its presence on a nearby hillside, and behind Red's back Dembe shakes his head reprovingly at Liz as she dimples back at him.


	16. Protected

The apartment is quiet and still. Red tiptoes gingerly into the kitchen for another glass of water, and pauses at the scene in the dimly lit living room.

Dembe is asleep on the couch, stretched out full length, still clothed down to his shoes and a knit cap on his head.

Liz is sleeping in a sitting position on the floor beside the couch, her head against his forearm. She's wearing tights and a loose tunic, but at least her feet are bare. Her toenails are painted red. 

When he left them to try and get some sleep, after his third shower of the evening, he thought they were just going to finish a movie.

Red understands his companions' reluctance to leave him unprotected. Dembe feels more comfortable on the couch, between the front door and Red, than in the spare room down the hall.

But Liz will wake up with a terrible crick in her neck.

Her eyes open as he looks down at her, sipping at his water with a sort of detached appreciation. She lied without conscience to the FBI, watched his torture and degradation on those videos without apparent impact. 

Well, except that she and Dembe seem to have grown very close, and she's practically living in his apartment with them as Red recovers, only occasionally leaving to purchase groceries or take-out.

Red hasn't known quite what to say to her since his rescue. She looks at him so differently, as if she's keeping a secret, one that makes her sad. All the promises he made to himself, to tell her how he really feels about her, have evaporated in the cool yet supportive emotional space she's providing him. No demands, no pressure.

But what does she really want?

"Red." Liz smiles sleepily up at him, and for the space of just one breath their eyes meet, before she blinks, and her smile widens.

"Don't sleep on the floor," he says softly, holding out one hand to her, then setting down his water glass and extending both hands.

As their fingers meet her eyes widen, and for a second they're both back in that small room. His hands tremble.

Liz jumps to her feet without his aid, steps closer. He's wearing thick flannel pajamas and a long robe, his injuries carefully bandaged, but still she hesitates, close enough to embrace him, but visibly holding back.

"I'm sorry ..." she begins.

"Come here, Lizzie." Red enfolds her carefully in his arms, expecting some resistance, but instead she almost melts against him, her head tucked against his shoulder as if it was meant to rest there.

"You should sleep in a bed" he murmurs against her hair, and she hugs him a little more tightly.

"Oh yes, please Red," she whispers back, and then she raises her face and begins kissing his neck, her lips so soft that the occasional dart of her tongue tasting his skin is almost imperceptible at first.

He meant that she should sleep in Dembe's room, but he wouldn't correct her now for the world.


	17. This

Red bends to capture her lips with his own, their first real kiss, clinging silently to each other with Dembe asleep not five feet away.

"Come, Lizzie," Red urges her, and with slow, still painful steps he leads her into his bedroom, closing the door before he draws her to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not good for much more than kisses, not yet," he warns her. She must know what a struggle he's facing, torn between the need to bathe repeatedly and the need to wear multiple layers of clothing.

Allowing Kate Kaplan to change his bandages strains his patience almost beyond all bearing. So inexplicable, the irrational fears that grip him now, even though he's perfectly safe.

"I can wait as long as you need, Red," Liz murmurs, returning his kisses. "I'd wait for you forever, you must know that by now."

No, he doesn't. Red can't begin to imagine how Lizzie or any other normal woman could still desire him, not after what she's seen, not only on the videos, but on the many other hours of tapes recovered at the scene.

Liz waits for him to lie down first, then curls close to him, not undressing, not tugging at his robe. Accepting what little he can give, kissing and kissing him until his head is swimming.

The covers lie heavy and warm over them, layer upon layer of blankets, and her lips seek his as she interlaces their fingers together, then lifts his hands to her breasts. Sighs contentedly as he fondles her first through the tunic, and then beneath it, finding nothing else between his fingers and the silken smoothness of her skin.

This, yes, this. 

Rolling onto his side, Red drowns in the pleasure of touching her, forgetting his fear, and falls asleep at last with his hands on her, their lips so close as they share one pillow, half the way home, both now sure they will eventually arrive there together.


End file.
